Sometimes I think our lives resemble an hourglass
And the Holy One pours into them – time
Like water from a pipe
Where it narrows to a point, we stand
Where the water falls
Where the future spills into the past
And here we extend our hands
If we grasp it
It turns to gold coins
Clinking softly in a pouch
To remain by our side forever
In this world and the next
If we fumble it
It turns to gas
Slipping past our fingers
Vanished into the air
Hopelessly irretrievable
Gone forever
So time is a dichotomy
To bottle or spill out on the ground
Concretized or vaporized
Our mission – to grasp the time gifted us
And turn it all to gold
And I pity the chieftains of Edom
Who spend their lives toiling to plug the glass
To trap the upper waters –
As if the Holy One desires a pouch
Filled with unspent rain
And often I take a glance
At the elders of wrinkled skin
With, perhaps, not so much water left
But how much time they grasped!
How many precious moments stored away!
What a trove of coins to call their own!
(or sometimes, how their haunted eyes reflect
a river of time squandered
a trove of coins that has not been claimed
and this I am afraid even to consider)
So time forces us to choose
Yet they shall be fruitful in their old age
And I hope one day I can be like them.
(Inspired by Rabbi Akiva Tatz sh”lita)
